


Don't Think... Feel

by JoansGlove



Series: Wentworth Detention Centre: The Ferguson Years [7]
Category: PCBH, Prisoner (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-01-14 15:55:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18479500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoansGlove/pseuds/JoansGlove
Summary: She used to think that she didn't need friends, that she could get along quite well on her own - but that was then and this is now. And now she's not so sure she can even make the friends she knows she needs...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is what should have happened to Joan in Ep 621 ;-P
> 
> with thanks to Duchess x

It had been many, many years since Joan had arm wrestled, and if it wasn’t for the fact that she was so sick of her own company then an equal number might have passed without it happening again.  But she was so thoroughly fed up that she’d driven herself out of her own house in search of relief and so, here she was in the local pub, feeling decidedly out of her element but glad she’d come because it had actually turned out to be quite an eventful evening. The TV in the bar was tuned to the golf and she’d been rather enjoying the coverage of the women’s tournament when some prick on a nearby table started going on about how women were too weak to compete against men and she’d felt compelled to shut him up. The look on his face when she stopped toying with him and forced his wrist to the table was priceless.

 

Buoyed up on her minor victory, she hadn’t minded chatting to his friend, Andrew – for she quite liked men – but sticking to neutral stuff about golf, shying away from the more personal questions, yet flushing with pleasure at his guileless cordiality. She’d forgotten that people could be nice, forgotten that she too, could be nice. But she wasn’t so out of practice that she’d forgotten that men are rarely nice to a single woman without an ulterior motive… He was at the bar after excusing himself when a shadow fell across her table; expecting it to be his ocker mate either coming to tell her what a beaut bloke Andrew was or to deliver some insult or other (you never could tell with wounded male pride), she looked up wearily and was surprised to find herself staring into a pair of pretty grey eyes instead.

 

The woman in tight slacks and an open-throated shirt sat down in Andrew’s still warm seat and smiled. “Well,” she said with an admiring look. “That was an impressive show you just gave us.” She raised her glass in salute and took a slow sip, eyeing Joan over the rim as Joan, a puzzled half-smile flitting across her face, belatedly raised her own. The woman leaned forward and Joan noticed how the gold St Christopher medal glinted above her impressive cleavage. “Look, I know that this sounds like a line but I haven’t seen you in here before, are you new to the neighbourhood?”

“You're right, it does sound like a line,” agreed Joan with a trace of humour. “And, no, I’ve lived around here for a while now. I’ve been here the odd time or two but it’s not really my kind of thing.” She looked disparagingly around the bar at the couples and knots of old men for emphasis. “I only really come here to arm wrestle.”

The woman laughed and sat back, her pewter coloured eyes crinkling in amusement as she sipped her drink. “You didn’t fancy Denny’s, then?” she asked. “Oh, I know it’s a hole but it has its merits – if you know what I mean?” Denny’s was the main lesbian bar in town. Joan had allowed herself to be dragged there by Terri once or twice and, whilst it had felt comforting to be surrounded by her kith and kin, it was all just a bit too boisterous for her.

 

Joan allowed herself a few moments to assess this bold stranger before answering. She judged her to be mid-forties but there was a youthfulness to her heart-shaped face that couldn’t be diminished by the lines that appeared when she smiled. She was trim without being scrawny, and her hair, the colour of summer wheat, was barbered short around the neck and ears. Her buffed nails were short too – pared down to almost nothing – her slender fingers adored by a single signet ring on her left pinky.

The woman was most definitely attractive, but Joan doubted that she was trying to pick her up, after all there was nothing special about her, far from it – she was on the wrong side of plain, her outfit was unflattering, and she looked every day of her 44 years on this earth – and then some. From habit, she expected this woman’s friendliness to turn out to be a vicious practical joke; she never used to be like this though, she thought – not before Terri – and she didn’t want to be like it now but she was… But it had been so long since she’d met anyone even vaguely similar to herself, so long since she’d had an honest conversation with someone who understood what it was like to be a woman of her inclinations that the prospect of leaving here tonight without making that connection – however fleeting – was beyond thought.

 

“It’s not really my thing.” She replied finally and offered a quick smile of apology before dropping her gaze.

A wary look settled on the woman’s face. “You don’t approve of it?” she asked cautiously.

“No, it’s not that. Of course, I approve. Why shouldn’t I?” She looked up and a bitter-sweet smile played on her lips. “We need somewhere to go, just like everybody else, it’s just not for me. A bit too… ah, casual I suppose. You probably think me old-fashioned…” She looked down again and fiddled with her lighter.

A compassionate smile appeared on her lips and the woman reached across the table and quickly squeezed Joan's hand. “No, not at all,” she said reassuringly and let go, although her hand remained close to Joan's on the table top. “I know exactly what you mean.” Joan raised her eyes and the two women shared a look of mutual understanding. “After all,” continued the stranger, “what’s the point in fancying the arse off someone if the music’s too loud to find out if they like Neil Diamond and what they eat for brekkie, eh?” She dropped a saucy wink and Joan found herself grinning, her initial wariness beginning to evaporate.

“Joan Ferguson,” she said and held out her hand in introduction.

“Di Trenton.” She took Joan’s hand in a firm, dry grip, “And I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance!” she said, grey eyes dancing as she held onto Joan's hand for a second or two longer than necessary.

 

It was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and with it, the bad mood that had been dogging her for months. A sticky flutter played in Joan’s chest as she stared at Di; it wasn’t just because she was attractive, no, there was something more to it than that, she realised – it was also this liberating sense of relief that for once, she could be honest about what she was and not have to face incomprehension or worse, polite (but more often impolite) revulsion. Words tumbled over themselves in her throat, tangling up with all the things she wanted to say, and she lit a cigarette as she tried to think of something that wouldn’t sound rehearsed or predictable and it was almost a relief when Di filled the brief silence for her.

 

“This may sound strange but are you in the Forces?” Joan looked at her sharply and Di wondered if she’d ballsed it up already. “I don’t mean it in a bad way!” she explained hurriedly. “… It’s just that there’s something about you that makes me think ‘Officer’.” She smiled hesitantly as Joan's expression softened.

“I tried for it,” she admitted, a rueful smile twisting her lips, “but the Army didn’t want a woman like me.”

“Ah,” murmured Di diplomatically. “So, what do you do now? That’s if you don’t mind me asking…”

 Joan baulked for a moment. People shied away from any mention of prison, and they usually took one look at her and immediately thought the worst… But with Di, she had the instinctive feeling that she could tell her and not be judged. “Er, truth be told, I’m the Deputy Governor at Wentworth Detention Centre.”

“Really!?” Di’s face lit up. “In that case, I don’t have to worry about telling you that I’m a Senior Sergeant down at Melbourne South.”

How fabulous to meet someone who understood the level of scum that she had to deal with on a daily basis! “Not at all!” replied Joan with wide grin and she raised her glass. “Here’s to unpopular jobs!”

Di matched her grin and winked. “To unpopular jobs done well,” she toasted in return.

 

Before Joan could reply, they were interrupted by Andrew Hinton. Pausing at their table on his way back to his friends, he frowned in surprise (and more than a touch of wounded pride) to find that his seat had barely cooled before he’d been replaced by another man. It took him a long second to realise that _he_ was in fact _she,_ but he recovered well and smiled charmingly at them both before addressing Joan.

“I, er, I just wanted to say again how much I enjoyed meeting you and to say that the invitation to our little golf club still stands.”

Joan offered him a polite smile. “Thank you, Andrew, I won’t forget.”

Remembering his manners, he turned to Di. “Er, perhaps you’d like to join us as well?”

Joan suppressed a smirk as Di glanced up at him and sweetly declined. “Thank you, no. Sticks and balls aren’t really my thing?” She glanced pointedly at Joan then back at him, full lips twitching as she waited for him to catch her drift.

“Er, yes, right. Well…” he stammered as realisation dawned, “I er, I won’t keep you.” With a final nod to Joan he sloped off back to his mates.

 

“Sorry about that,” Joan apologised.

“Hey, it’s fine, you're a woman in demand, I get it,” laughed Di and playfully touched the back of Joan's hand, fingertips lingering over her knuckles as Joan blushed and looked shyly down into her glass.

“Oh, I don’t know about that…” she said and took a sip.

“I do. So,” said Di brightly, “let’s change the subject. Tell me, do you like Neil Diamond?” She pursed her lips thoughtfully as Joan shrugged and waggled her hand in a so-so motion, then with a decisive nod of her head she said, “I’ll take that. Now, more importantly, what would you like for brekkie?” She chuckled as Joan choked on her drink and stared at her with big eyes.

 

*****

The inside of Di’s sports car was most definitely not designed for a woman of her dimensions – especially not one made clumsy and awkward through nerves. She’d been keen to get away from the curious stares in the pub yet she hadn’t wanted the evening to end – not by a long chalk – and so, with a cautious excitement, she’d accepted Di’s offer of a night cap. But now that it was actually happening, a strange sense of trepidation was making her doubt herself. She felt very much out of her depth – she usually did when she had an inkling that the woman could be special. It didn’t help that an insistent voice kept informing her that she’d blow it, that before the night was out Di would discover that she was as unlikeable and unlovable as everyone kept telling her she was.

And it had to be true to some degree, she thought sadly. After all, each time that she’d managed to make a connection with someone she’d had it ripped away from her. Audrey, her father, Shane, and most recently and most devastatingly, Terri: each time she’d thought that her future could be a happy one she’d been proven wrong. It was as if the cost of opening her heart could never be met, and each time she did it the ones she loved most dear were taken away from her like a repossessed TV or something. It was hard, and it had been hard for so long that, without noticing, she’d become hard inside as well as out. She didn’t like what she’d become and she kept expecting Di to come to her senses and give her the flick before the night was through.

 

“I don’t normally do this kind of thing. It’s been a long time…” With a deep breath to settle the knot in her guts, Joan smoothed down her skirt with damp palms and looked guiltily at Di.

“Me neither.” Di glanced over with a little smile as she adjusted the choke. “Honestly, I don’t,” she stressed and closed her fingers around Joan's knuckles. “Look, how about I promise not to race you off without your express permission. How does that work for you, eh?” She searched Joan's eyes, fingers tightening a little as she sought to reassure this intriguing woman. “We're just changing the venue and the price of the drinks – nothing more if you don’t want.”

Joan gave a small chuckle and relaxed visibly. “Yeah, OK,” she said and smiled at Di, suddenly embarrassed at behaving like a dill.

“Excellent! Right, buckle up, Joan, you're in for the ride of your life!”


	2. Chapter 2

With a hand in the small of her back, Di ushered Joan down the hallway and into the lounge. “You want tea, coffee? Something stronger maybe – beer, wine, whiskey?”

“Coffee sounds good.”

“Righty-O, back in a tick.” Di flicked on a couple of lamps and, with a quick squeeze of Joan's arm, she headed back down the hall.

Alone in the sitting room, Joan took a deep breath to calm herself as she stared after Di. God, she was nervous! It was a long, long time since she’d gone home with a complete stranger, not since her early days in Brisbane when her heart was still without all of its scars of pain and failure. There was no denying that she had a strong desire to see Di naked, just as she had a strong desire to have Di’s slender hand stroking the wetness between her thighs, but could she – after all this time – let herself be that carefree again? Stop it! She told herself sharply. It has nothing to do with being carefree. You're feeling like this because unlike Audrey and Hannah, or Joanne or Terri, Di is almost a mirror image of yourself – similar age, similar rank… Butch. For once, it’s not you that’s in charge so of course it feels weird – just stop over-thinking everything and go with the flow!

 

Freshly rebuked, Joan scanned the room for clues about Di. A collection of framed photographs caught her eye and, wandering over, she was gladdened to see that they were all of dogs. Handsome black and blonde German Shepherds grinned out at her and she found herself grinning back. In her opinion dogs were better than most people.

Sensing movement behind her, she turned to find Di watching her from the doorway. “You found my babies then?” she asked proudly.

“Mm, they’re a handsome lot, aren’t they?” Her eyes lingered on Di’s deep cleavage as she placed their mugs on the coffee table and sank down into the low sofa. 

“What can I say?” asked Di, her lips twitching into a half smile as her narrowed eyes flickered over Joan’s body. “I’m a sucker for a good-looking bitch.” Unused to such direct flirting, Joan laughed uncertainly, blushing a little as she met Di's amused gaze. She was being silly, she told herself, this woman wanted her here, had chatted her up and brought her into her home – and it wasn’t just to admire her interior décor; no, she was here to get to know her better with a view to something more intimate. Joan's breath caught in her throat at the thought of what ‘something more intimate’ entailed, and her eyes roamed over Di's neat body with more than a trace of hunger.

 

Grasping the nettle, she sat down beside Di. Sudden heat prickled at the back of her neck as, skirt riding up her thighs, she almost fell into the deceptively low sofa and crushed her host. She tugged modestly at her hem, an embarrassed flush creeping up her throat. “I don’t know what possessed me to wear this thing tonight,” she said in apology for her awkwardness.

“Because it draws less attention than trousers? Confuses the breeders? Makes the wankers think twice before shouting ‘dyke’?” Di’s eyebrow rose as a grimace of disdain for ‘straight camouflage’ hardened her face.

Joan frowned in agreement. “Yeah. Sad, isn’t it, that a pair of trousers can cause so much trouble?” 

“Mm, but just think,” said Di, a salacious look replacing her grimace, “If you’d been wearing trousers tonight then my head mightn’t have been turned by the flash of such a lovely ankle…” She let her eyes trail lazily up the length of Joan's legs, dragging them over her flat midriff and the peaks of her breasts before fixing her with a sultry look.

Joan had seemed about to rebuff her compliment, and Di smiled warmly as a shy grin curled Joan’s lips and she modestly dipped her gaze before raising her soft, hazel eyes and regarding Di with quizzical amusement. “Flatterer,” she accused and reached for her coffee.   

“Not at all,” Di replied, lighting a cigarette and squinting at Joan through the smoke. “It was most arresting…” She was pleased to see that she’d made Joan laugh once more. Ever since she kicked Beck out she’d been in self-imposed exile but it was a lonely place, and she’d only stopped in at the pub for a bottle to see her through the evening, but on seeing Joan in action, she’d bought herself a drink and bided her time until she could introduce herself. This woman’s amazon build and her curves were compelling enough, but she was also quietly attractive with her expressive hazel eyes and wicked grin, and, as she soon found out, she was witty, intelligent and opinionated too – everything that made Di want to know her better.

 

*****

 

Coffee drunk, cigarettes smoked, the time had come for Di to make her opening move. She was hot for Joan and all the signs were favourable so, with a lazy, sultry smile creeping over her face, she lifted Joan's elegant hand from her lap and began to examine it. Joan's skin burned with Di’s touch and she inhaled sharply, riding the wave of pleasure coming from her tightening pelvic muscles as Di’s thumb dragged slowly across her palm. “What are you doing?” asked Joan, her voice almost a whisper.

Di's dreamy gaze flickered over her mouth then to her eyes. “Just looking,” she replied lightly and stroked each long finger in turn. But her eyes never shifted from Joan's, instead they grew dark and lustrous as she memorised the flecks of agate green in Joan's irises, the way Joan’s long lashes fluttered when she sighed, the pent-up emotion that flared as she caressed Joan's hand. Joan offered no resistance as Di raised it between them and pressed her lips to her palm, bending her head to kiss her ticklish inner wrist, trailing her mouth up the soft skin of her forearm as Joan shivered beneath her touch; and Di grew bolder, lifting her face to Joan's she leaned in and grazed her lips with her own.

 

Every muscle in Joan's body tensed as an overwhelming desire surged through her, and as she stiffened, Di pulled away with a look of confusion clouding her eyes. She was getting some seriously mixed signals here; back at the pub Joan had been quietly confident and seeming receptive to her advances, but as soon as she’d agreed to come back here she’d developed this weird shyness that was so at odds with the woman who’d cheerfully smashed that bloke’s hand into the table – it was hard to reconcile the Joan from the pub with the Joan of now, the one sitting here with flaming red cheeks.

“Look, have I got it wrong?” she asked, squeezing Joan's fingers as she searched her eyes for answers. “Do you want to go home?”

Joan felt herself pale in dread at the thought. “What? No! Look, I’m sorry for carrying on like this. It’s been so long and I …” She what? She didn’t want to be understood or accepted? She didn’t want to be kissed by this woman? The heat between her thighs insisted that she most definitely did.

“… And I…?”

“And, and I…” she floundered, looking away as she tried to find the right words. “Well, let’s just say it’s not like riding a bike?” she offered with a mixture of apology and regret, raking her fingers through her hair as she dipped her head in embarrassment.

“I disagree. You’ve just got to want to ride again.” Cupping Joan's cheek, Di raised her chin until their eyes met and she stared meaningfully asking, “Do you want to ride, Joan?”

 

Crunch time. Despite her earlier pep-talk, she’d locked herself down so tightly after Terri’s betrayal that she really feared that she’d never be able to let her guard down again, but beyond all expectation she found that she was more scared not to.  She couldn’t let this woman slip through her fingers, not like this... Joan gazed steadily into Di’s clear grey eyes and unknotted the scarf from around her neck, tossing it onto the coffee table. “Yes. Yes, I do,” she said and slipped the top button of her blouse. Heat coursed through her body and she shivered again as she pushed aside her doubts.

“Does that mean I have your permission, then?” Cautious excitement twinkled in Di’s eyes as she trailed her fingertips along Joan's jaw.

“I suppose it does,” she grinned hesitantly. “Just take it slow, eh?”

“Mmm, the slower the better,” came the murmured response and Di leaned in to kiss her softly on the lips.


	3. Chapter 3

It was like a dream, the ghost of the first time she ever necked with a girl, almost as if she was being released from invisible bonds to live once more. Joan couldn’t pin the feeling down; but it was good one – really good – and with a deep sigh of longing, she accepted Di’s hot, wet tongue into her mouth and the sudden onslaught of sensations left her weak. Colours surged behind closed lids as she sank back into the cushions, and she let out a throaty moan as smooth fingers skated sensuously down her neck on their way to the fiery skin of her chest. Di’s touch was electric, her fingers sending flashes of heat chasing across her skin, feeding the current that buzzed violently between her stiffening nipples and throbbing sex; and Joan pulled Di closer, arching into her as their kiss deepened into something almost hypnotic.

 

True to her word Di allowed Joan to dictate the pace; it was hard but she bided her time until eventually Joan's hands began to wander – tentatively at first, then gaining confidence as her kisses grew more demanding – and she squirmed with supressed tension as Joan pulled her closer still and long fingers slid from her waist down to the curve of her trousered hip then crept around to trace the swell of her bum, fanning the embers smouldering deep in her belly. She broke their kiss as her hand found Joan's breast and they shared a moan of delight as she squeezed it, the breath between them almost as hot as the intent in their eyes. Encouraged, Di thumbed Joan's nipple and felt fingers dig into her hip, and she squeezed harder, making Joan gasp and kiss her deeply. Her fingertips disappeared beneath the lapel of Joan’s blouse and into the overheated valley of her cleavage, and she felt the frantic beat of Joan's heart beneath her palm, feeling it blend with her own rapid pulse as she stared into Joan's eyes and saw her need reflected back at her. Undoing one button, she undid another and then another until the wrinkled black cotton fell away to reveal smooth, tanned skin. “Oh, Joan…” she breathed, tenderly cradling Joan's breast and skimming her nipple through the silky fabric of her bra, and she beamed in sheer, unadulterated pleasure as Joan whimpered and rubbed her thighs together.

 

A decadent purr vibrated deep in Joan's throat as Di began to tweak the hard peak of her nipple; her shoes fell to the floor as, lifting her stockinged feet, she slid sideways and onto her back, taking Di with her as she accommodated a toned thigh between her own. Di's weight made her feel safe somehow, and strangely smaller – less ungainly. Her eyes rolled at the steady pressure between her legs and wetness seeped into her underwear making her feel hot and clammy, making her want to throw caution to the wind and open her legs wide, to rub herself shamelessly against this sexy woman, but she let the torment build, savouring the rare feeling of tightness that thrummed through her in the most erotic way.

Delicious shivers raced through her as hot kisses trailed their way to the beating pulse in her neck, drifting over the fine ridge of her collar bone before climbing the heaving hillock of her breast, and time seemed to stop as Di's wet tongue glided along the border of skin and lace, making Joan's purr deepen into a groan of longing – she was hollow with need, her insides consumed by the rekindled flames of wanting.

 

Di's skin slipped hotly beneath her palms as she thrust her hands up under her shirt and she clawed gently at the strong back sheathed in burning vellum, dragging the shirt up Di's ribs as Di slid down and placed her mouth over her other, sadly neglected nipple. Joan writhed as a sensual ache bloomed in her groin, and she gripped Di's thigh between her own, arching her body against her, nails sinking deeper as she began to crackle with a strange electricity.

Their smouldering eyes locked as Di spent long moments teasing her through the thin bra cups but Joan found her gaze sliding to the compressed swell of her cleavage and before long, she was tugging at Di's shirt, needing to feel her skin against hers. Di obligingly pushed herself up and Joan pulled at the buttons, brushing aside the annoying fabric as she gazed in awe at the creamy globes trussed up in an industrial looking bra. Di's breasts weren’t just big, they were huge, rivalling even doughy Doreen Anderson’s… but she would never dream of doing this to Anderson, and she filled her hands with heavy flesh and pushed her face into the scented softness. Breathing became irrelevant as she kissed her way across Di's matronly bosom, luxuriating in the satiny heat that enveloped her nose and mouth and invited her lips to press harder.

 

“Do you want to take this into the bedroom?” asked Di, scraping the curved edge of Joan's ear with her teeth. She was so fired up now that every sweep of Joan's thumbs over her swollen nipples sent a bolt of lightning directly to her sticky clit and it was becoming harder and harder to hold off from grinding her way to climax.

Joan surfaced with a greedy smile and stared up at her with wide, shining eyes. “Very much,” she said thickly and allowed herself to be pulled upright onto trembling legs.


	4. Chapter 4

Di led her into the bedroom and stopped in front of a wall of mirrors. Joan guessed at fitted wardrobes, but she had no time to ponder the matter as Di pressed up behind her and encircled her waist with surprisingly strong arms making Joan's breath falter in anticipation. Light spilling in from the hallway caught the golden highlights in her hair as, staring at Joan from over her shoulder, Di slowly slipped her unbuttoned blouse from her arms, delivering a soft, wet kiss between her shoulder blades as she threw it to one side. Her belt whispered through its loops as Di whipped it from her waist before undoing her skirt and letting it flutter to the floor, then fast hands rolled down her tights and Joan was encouraged to step out of her clothing. She stared critically at her nearly naked form reflected back in all its lumpy glory - she was well aware that her figure was highly unfashionable, that all-round there was just too much of her to meet current standards, and she was grateful for the dim lighting.

 

“Just look at you,” breathed Di in awe. “I mean it,” she murmured as Joan scoffed under her breath, and stood on tiptoes to kiss her behind her ear, eager hands skimming down to the curvaceous swell of Joan’s hips. “You’re amazing.” Joan’s bashful smile widened to a grin of helpless pleasure as Di's hands meandered over her meaty thighs, her pot belly with its ugly scar, and her chest, leaving a trail of sensation that tingled like a million kisses as they swayed together in the half-light until she could stand it no longer. She tried to turn but was held fast, and she willingly submitted to Di's strong grip, her stomach flipping as Di decorated her shoulders with seductive little nibbles. “You just stay there for a moment, my sweet,” murmured Di, her hot mouth never faltering as she stripped to her underwear.

 

A shuddering gasp rushed from Joan as she was spun around and warm hands slipped down the back of her knickers, squeezing her arse as she was pulled tight against Di’s belly. Instantly, Joan kissed her with a ravenous hunger, filling Di’s mouth with a searching tongue as she gently cradled her elfin face in her palms; and nimble fingers trailed their way up her spine, releasing her bra, causing her to moan thickly into Di's throat when the same nimble fingers pulled the underwires away from her ribs and accepted the weight of her breasts as they tumbled from their confines. Bright heat, as fine and brilliant as diamonds engulfed her, simultaneously tensing and weakening her muscles as Di's mouth replaced her fingers and silky, wet heat flooded her throbbing cunt. Fuck, how she wanted to do filthy things to this woman!

 

The intrusive shrill of the telephone made them both jump. “Ignore it,” ordered Joan, her voice thick with arousal. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”

“If you insist.” She smiled lazily as Joan’s long fingers curled through her heavy hair and she was pulled upright into her embrace.

“My turn,” Joan said, grinning salaciously down at Di and deftly unhooked the industrial elastic. Swollen lips barely grazing Di's, she traced the red grooves left by the thick straps as she slipped them from Di’s shoulders and she eased her fingertips under the stiff fabric, separating it from the baby smooth skin beneath until it slithered to the floor. The softest, hottest (and biggest!) breasts filled her hands and she stood back to gaze at Di, her knees weakening at the thought of worshipping them.

 

“Well, you certainly hid this light under a bushel,” she joked in admiration of the pale, pendulous teardrops tipped with large, raspberry coloured nipples and areolae wider than her thumb was long.

“There’s no hiding these babies,” chuckled Di and her tits jiggled invitingly as she shimmied, forcing Joan to steady them for her.

“No, I suppose not,” she agreed flashing her dimples, and followed the tracery of veins with reverential fingertips until they stopped on Di’s nipples. Joan’s clit sparked as she pinched them sharply and Di cried out, gripping her shoulder as her narrow thighs ground together; and Joan could wait no longer. Bending her neck, she raised each one to her mouth in turn, suckling like a starving child as she kneaded the pliant swell until Di's breath was coming in fractured bursts and she was clinging to Joan for support as her hips jerked helplessly under the deluge of sensations.

“Looks like you need to lie down,” observed Joan innocently as Di sagged in her arms.

“Aw yeah, maybe…” she croaked and walked Joan backwards until the bed caught the back of her knees and the Amazon fell with a squeal.


	5. Chapter 5

Everything stopped as Di gazed at Joan. She was awestruck by how perfect she looked filling the bed with her womanly curves and her long, elegant limbs, and she felt a part of her melt. At that point, she would have given Joan anything she desired, no matter how outlandish and, in return she asked for nothing more than to be allowed to wake up with her in the morning. With this feeling came a sensation of all-encompassing liquid warmth, making her feel heavy and sensuous, almost fluid; and shedding her underwear, she crawled on top of Joan and coated her with her body. They flowed together, eddying whorls of passion joining skin to skin, mouth to mouth, torrents bursting forth as fingers slipped and teased and floated, their bodies rolling like breakers across the bed as the sounds of their excitement filled the room.

 

Slow, burning kisses worked their way between Joan’s breasts as sure hands fluttered over her ticklish ribs, tracking wetly over her belly and the unsightly, puckered scar to the right of her navel (a souvenir from Angela Adams), and Joan quivered with excited anticipation as Di stared up at her with devilish intent. Her sturdy knickers became a thing of memory as hot lips trailed lower, and she curled her body around Di's head as her agile tongue traced a bright, heart stopping path across her aching wetness. Fingers entered her and she fell back with a guttural groan, writhing with exquisite sensation as she opened herself up to every possibility. At first, when Di had knelt over her with that expression of naked lust on her face, it had made her feel almost timid, like the first time she ever undressed for another person, but her caresses had soon encouraged a confidence that brought her own sizzling desire into sharp focus; but this wasn’t just fucking, this was almost making love, and their passion was coloured with a tenderness of unspoken connection that transcended more than mere physical needs.

 

She was stretched wider, fucked harder, and the hot tongue was replaced by fingertips sliding intuitively around her clit as Di sucked deeply on her soft, fleshy inner thigh; and Joan’s soul rejoiced, breaking free as she neared the limits of earthly pleasure, and she became a shimmering ribbon of energy in the velvet darkness of the cosmos as the delirious grinding sensation in her loins became the focal point of her whole existence and she tumbled into the well of her orgasm. It hit her like an atomic bomb – vaporising her senses, pulverising her into a trillion pieces before drawing her up in the firestorm to float in the spreading cloud of exhilaration.

 

“Dear Jesus!” Joan gasped weakly as Di rose from between her legs and slowly withdrew her fingers, smearing a handful of pearly cum over her crinkled inner lips as she knelt and admired her handiwork. Sculpted by the Goddess herself, Joan's cunt glistened a deep dusky pink amongst the luxuriant growth of rich brown curls; it truly was a work of art!

“Hmmm, not like riding a bike, you say? I reckon you could qualify for the Tour de France,” Di gently mocked, and there was a trace of sheepishness in Joan's face as she grinned in sleepy contentment and held out her arms; and as she knelt astride Joan’s thigh she was pulled into a burning embrace and kissed with an erotic languor that inevitably grew in vigour as Di started to rub wetly against her hip bone.

Traces of her rich scent lingered in the recesses of Di's mouth, on her cheeks and the tip of her nose, and especially her fingers, which played lazily over Joan's lips as their mouths drew apart and they stared wordlessly at each other. There was connection between that that seemed ageless, an unspoken knowledge of the map of their destiny, and Joan let out a quivering sigh.

 

Di ‘s leg slid over Joan's stomach and she ground her slippery heat into to the padded crest of her hip, bracing a hand most pleasurably on Joan's tit as she began to moan softly. She arched like a cat as Joan slid her hands between their bodies, seeking her nipples and pulling on them as Di grunted in pleasure and soaked her hip a little more. “Oh, god…” she cried out hoarsely and pushed herself up on shaking arms as Joan pinched her nipples hard, and she began to move with an urgency that had been building from the moment Joan had followed her out of the pub. Grabbing Joan's hand, she pushed it between her legs and slid her throbbing cunt into her palm. “Fuck me, Joan” she begged and rolled onto the rumpled blankets, almost sobbing as Joan opened her up with two fingers and slid them deep into her sticky heat with an appreciative ‘Ohhhh’.

 

Teeth found her nipple and she arched again as Joan's hand slid beneath her shoulder and strong fingers gripped the back of her neck, and then Joan was pinning her to the bed; thigh slipping between hers, feet tangling as she thrust into her with a practised roll of her hips. Oh fuck! She was close, so close! And her strangled shouts were silenced as Joan kissed her like a woman possessed – sliding her tongue into every crevice, lashing it over her own paralysed tongue – dominating her as she drove her closer and closer to the brink of sanity. And then it was as if a switch had been flicked, and a buzzing sensation sawed deep into her core, vibrating her very bones as she clung to Joan in near delirium. Spreading her legs painfully wide, she rocked hard into Joan's hand, mashing her clit against her palm as she clawed at her shoulders with blunt nails and surrendered.  

Her consciousness seemed to contract. She was nothing but silkily hot, sinfully dark, toe-curlingly outrageous pleasure; delicious ripples of slick, oily indulgence flooded through her, releasing the tightness in her straining muscles, the rainbow-dark swells multiplying until there was nothing but the breathless crash of her climax as the towering wave broke and sent her tumbling head over heels like a rag doll to finally surface, gasping, spent and superbly satisfied.

 

Rolling gently onto her side, Joan gathered Di in her arms and, with a feeling of exquisite tenderness she touched her forehead to Di's and sighed in contentment. She could live in this moment forever, just drifting in this haze of serenity; wanted, accepted… safe. This was how life should be – not the grinding struggle that hers had become – but did she dare to hope that she could have ever have that security again? She felt her shoulders tense as she tried to banish the sickly doubt and Di drew back with a small frown. “Are you Ok?” she asked softly and traced Joan's damp hairline with tender concern, stroking gentle fingers along her strong jaw as she searched her eyes worriedly for signs of regret.

Joan realised that yes, she did dare to reach for her share of happiness, and she kissed Di’s palm with a smile. “Oh, I’m more than OK,” she purred and grazed her lips against Di's.

 

*****

 

Twin columns of blue smoke twined their ways towards the ceiling, curling hypnotically in the glow of the bedside light. It was nearing 1am and Joan was feeling warm and sleepy (and only a little bit sore). She’d returned from the bathroom to find Di proudly stroking her strap-on (she’d been inspired – so she said – by the sight of Joan's sumptuous behind), and had proceeded to fuck her blind until at last, they lay broken and twitching, sweat cooling on their glowing bodies.

 

Di ground her filter into the ashtray. “Are you working tomorrow?”

“Not until 2.” She idly rubbed one of the suck marks that littered Di's breasts. “But I don’t know how I’ll be able to concentrate… You?”

“Rest day,” replied Di. “Joan…?” she asked after a moment’s hesitation.

“Mm?” Joan stubbed out her cigarette and moved the ashtray to the side table, turning onto her side as she gave Di her full attention.

“Will you stay the night?”

“Yes, if that’s what you want.”

“I want it very much.”

“Me too.” With a pirate’s grin, she pressed Di's hand to her breast and reached beneath the covers searching for the golden treasure that lay between hot thighs.


End file.
